


Never the Same as the Good Old Days

by albawrites



Series: On the Way to Piltover [1]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:38:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4656504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albawrites/pseuds/albawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Graves and Twisted Fate escape Bilgewater and start making their way to Piltover. They make a stop on their way, and Graves is getting the impression that his rekindled friendship with Twisted Fate is hardly the same as it was before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never the Same as the Good Old Days

**Author's Note:**

> RATING: Mature. Explicit sex is involved.  
> DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that I wasn't satisfied with the lack of stories with these two.

Even before his years in the Locker, this sort of scene has never been his usual brand. The island of Ionia is different and isn't anything like like Piltover and it's a far cry from the same kind of grungy feeling and taste of regret as Bilgewater. Everything feels like he has to be cautious about what kind of respect he gives anything, even the trees. There are _sand gardens_ here, which is all kinds of ridiculous to him. And true to his earlier judgments ever since Twisted Fate has come into money he's been dressing like some kind of dandy and spending it freely on himself. Case in point: the inn room that they are renting (by which he means _Twisted Fate_ is renting) is more tasteful and expensive than any place they stayed together during their original partnership all those years ago.

Maybe T.F. is just willing to loosen the purse strings a little after the entire thing in Bilgewater. It's hard to blame him for that. Regardless, no expense is spared, that much is clear. The beds have silky looking covers, the bedding looking incredibly plush and the _bed frames_ alone look like they're hand-carved with intricate designs. There's an oil painting of mountains Graves thinks he should probably know, and brushstrokes he should appreciate more but he's no artist himself. The _drapes_ flowing down over the windows probably cost more than his own wardrobe.

Graves almost feels guilty stepping on the antique-looking carpet with his filthy boots.

"You feel better throwing your coin at this?" he asks, amused with his now again partner.

"After waitin' around on that boat that nearly sunk on its way over here? I can safely say it was worth it." Twisted Fate wears his sly smile, not even a hint of regret on his face. "Gonna go make sure room service will be up soon. The whole saltwater and fish guts look just didn't do it for me."

Graves sighs and struggles to not roll his eyes. He fails. "What a damn shame."

"Guess if I ever wanted to try somethin' new, I'll just get captured by pirates again because of your stubborn ass." T.F. grins at him, clean and sharp, before he turns around to leave the room temporarily, heading back into the hallway of the inn.

It leaves Graves to his own devices for a moment. He shrugs to himself, kicking off his boots before dumping his coat to the floor. Everything is in a sorry looking state, but he cares significantly less than Twisted Fate by comparison. At this point, he feels like he's just humoring the man for being particular about where they go to _sleep_ for a night or two while they get back on their feet.

As he works on peeling off layers of clothing, Graves squints in the direction of what he assumes to be the washroom. Steam is curling out from the ajar door, and upon looking inside he can see why. There's already a bath drawn for them. A bath in a tub that's probably a large as the beds in their room. The rest of it is just as pricey as the rest of the situation: a stand is propped up next to the bath, containing various oils as well as a dark-colored looking whiskey and glasses. The floor's probably been polished to an extreme as well.

That's just ridiculous. When did Twisted Fate start telling himself that all of his was ever necessary to spend on? Graves rolls his eyes.

Well, there's no point in _not_ using a hot bath that's been prepared for them. The rest of his clothing is deposited on the floor, a problem for later. Right now, admittedly, sitting in hot water for awhile sounds pretty appealing.

Gingerly, he sinks into the tub, letting himself soak. It's odd to think, but after chasing down T.F. as long as he had been, he never really had taken the time to appreciate things like _this_ after breaking out of the Locker. Simple matters like a halfway decent meal and a hot bath was as good as gold in a place like that. Here, he can even relax a little.

There's a novelty. Admittedly, Graves has spent all of his time after escaping in keeping a downright strangling _hold_ onto his anger. It's all he had for ages. Now, he can just let things be for awhile until they find their way to Piltover. Hell, maybe he can even make an attempt to relax.

For awhile, he sits in the hot water, contemplating. It seems almost enough to just sit and be content, but-- well, he really _hasn't_ given a moment's rest in his hunt for vengeance. It feels like almost every second was spent hating what happened years ago. That can be different now.

That can be _really_ different now.

Idly, drums his fingers on his thigh, brow furrowed. Eventually, Graves grumbles to himself, "The hell with it."

Who knows when T.F. will turn back up in the room? Graves can definitely allow himself this. He pushes himself out of the bath enough to sit on the edge. Not that there isn't enough room for him there, anyway. One hand grips the edge next to where he's sitting, and the other he uses to brush his fingers against his dick. His hands are more callused than he can help, but the rough sensation is enough to make him twitch and harden before he's completely cradling himself in his palm.

It doesn't take much more effort until it's a full erection, just a few tugs and strokes. He doesn't really consider a fantasy right now, just that _feeling_ this right now is enough for him. Just something quick and pleasant.

"There's room enough for two in there. I'm comin' in."

That figures. Graves doesn't bat an eye when the door opens and Twisted Fate stands in the doorway, stark naked. His eyes briefly dart to T.F.'s shoulder, still mending from when it was shot in Bilgewater; he then locks eyes with Twisted Fate, who in turn pauses when he finally notices what he's interrupted.

"You mind?" Graves demands, his intentions obvious.

"Not in the least," T.F. responds smoothly, as if the fact that Graves is trying to jerk off is a matter incapable of fazing him.

Few things _can_ , apparently. Twisted Fate is approaching, completely undeterred as he steps into the bath. He sinks down, making a show of being relaxed as he peers at his partner.

Graves is definitely not amused, but he definitely doesn't plan on stopping either. Old habits die hard, but he's determined to not let T.F.'s un-fazed state faze him in return.

"Matter of fact, hotshot, you look like you could use a hand," Twisted Fate says, keeping his smug expression.

That does stop Graves. "What."

The way Twisted Fate pushes himself forward in the bath causes his long, dark hair to swirl in the water behind him, and he's closed to Graves _very_ quickly. He thinks he heard T.F. offer to _help_ , but he isn't entirely convinced just yet that he didn't suddenly go crazy temporarily in the past five seconds the moment the words were supposedly spoken. It's when he feels T.F.'s hand on his knee that makes him digest the whole situation.

Twisted Fate arches a brow at him, a silent inclination to his earlier suggestion.

Still too stubborn to let him quite have the upper-hand, Graves makes a flippant snort before removing his hand. "Well? Are you gonna make good on that?"

"Heh." The grin his partner wears is all too familiar. "Don't you worry about that. I've got you covered."

Graves is sure he had a clever quip to give in return, but he's immediately distracted as he watches the swindler dip his head down and take the tip into his mouth. It's already infinitely better than his own rough hands; it's warm and wet, and it's almost frustrating how pleasant that tongue is sliding over the head. It makes Graves groan; it irritates him slightly how he can _feel_ Twisted Fate smirking as he works his mouth down a little more.

Smug son of a bitch.

Admittedly, it's not an unattractive sight: Twisted Fate's lips are wrapped tightly around the base of his dick, and he seems to have a lazy look on his face as he works, like he's done this several times. He can feel the tongue slide against the underside of his length, barely enough room but he's making it work. When the thief's hand loosely curls around the base, Graves can already feel the difference between Twisted Fate's fingers and his own. They're much smoother, much more obviously cared for by comparison. It's not like using cards would be enough to roughen them up anyway, and begrudgingly it's paying off now for Graves.

Twisted Fate is drawing his head back, sucking noisily as he pulls his mouth away. He licks at the tip once-- _twice_ before he's lowering his head again, obviously making a show of it as he groans, like he's truly enjoying giving Graves this treatment. When T.F. starts to slowly bob his head, Graves holds onto the edge of the tub like his life depends on it, growling lowly as he watches his old friend and former rival suck him off. Graves presses his palm against the back of Twisted Fate's head; not to push him down, but resting there, feeling the pace quicken.

The suction's fantastic, and it's still hot and wet. He can feel the effort Twisted Fate is really putting into this, careful to keep his teeth from grazing him as much as possible. By now, Graves is completely lost in the sensation, trying not to buck his hips too hard into his mouth but it's damned hard to control as Twisted Fate keeps this up. He isn't blind, and he knows that the other man is conventionally handsome, but it's surprisingly _appealing_ to watch how confidently he works. It makes it all the more difficult to hold back.

And really, he can't.

Graves hisses and jerks forward, coming harder than he expected. Completely in control of the situation, Twisted Fate moves his head with how the outlaw's hips move, and he's swallowing as if he'd been expecting it. Slowly, Twisted Fate pulls his head away, sliding his tongue one last swipe over the tip. His lips are slightly redder, but in no way does the swindler look uncomfortable; all the opposite, really, as he calmly leans back and pours himself a glass of the whiskey that had been set up next to the bath.

Leaving Graves feeling completely mind blown -- no pun intended -- about the whole thing. He feels better, he thinks. He also feels vaguely puzzled and a bit irritated at how easily T.F. committed to the moment and slides away just as easily. Graves isn't sure if he's bothered because his friend just sucked him off and it felt _good_ , or if he's bothered that Twisted Fate _isn't_ bothered at all.

"You're gonna get cold up there, Malcolm," Twisted Fate points out before he's taking a swig of his glass.

That just makes Graves frown before he commits to sitting back down in the bath.

"You look sour. Couldn't have been that terrible; you sounded like y'liked it."

Graves snaps his finger for the glass. A drink sounds like what he needs, and T.F. silently obliges as he passes off the cup to him. "I'm fine," Graves says rigidly. "And it was-- fine."

"Just _fine_ , you say? Hell, I guess I'm a bit out of practice." Twisted Fate chuckles, instead focusing now on actually scrubbing himself. "But if I didn't know better, I reckon you're still as tense as ever."

He hates to agree, but Graves knows he has a point. He felt good during and after, and now he's dwelling on it. Like it was nothing, Twisted Fate offered to help and had done it more than effectively. Did it mean anything, or was it a one-time matter? Is it _weird_ at all? He'd spent the last ten years hating this man, and recently they'd just made amends. It matters less that he's another man, and matters more that his relationship with Twisted Fate is now suddenly more complicated than he'd expected or like it to be.

Or he's thinking too much about it. Twisted Fate doesn't seem bothered at all as he shrugs and carries on with washing himself, while Graves stews away on the matter and finishes the glass of whiskey.

"Well, have fun sittin' there like a bump on a log." Twisted Fate stands up with a single hint of hesitation. He squeezes the water out of his hair before he's stepping out of the bath.

Graves watches him, and in as much as he tries not to think he _does_. He thinks about Twisted Fate's mouth on him, hot and wet, and how it seemed so easy for him to do. He thinks about his lips now, red and just slightly swollen, still attractive. 

Briefly his grip on the glass tightens before he smartly sets it aside. Thinking about it too much is going to frustrate him, and he'd prefer not to anyway. Graves prefers to go by his gut anyway, and right now he's following his inclination to get out of the bath too. He grabs onto Twisted Fate's arm before he can get away, and brings him into a rough kiss. Graves notices that _now_ Twisted Fate pauses. It's brief, but satisfying to know that he'd caught him off guard. A second later, Twisted Fate is pressing his mouth back against his partner's, and his arm hooks around the back of the outlaw's neck. Graves uses his teeth and tongue, determined and admitting to his hunger, but Twisted Fate feels sincere as he opens his mouth and lets their teeth click and he holds on close, inviting this entirely.

It's hard to know where he even wants to go with this. Graves is just pressing close, nipping T.F.'s lower lip and biting his neck. Instead of fighting back, Twisted Fate _works_ with him, tilting his head into however the kiss goes, and tipping his chin back when Graves' mouth finds his throat. It's just like him, to twist and turn in whatever favors him, but he's actively working _with_ Graves as well. He's sucking at skin by the base of Twisted Fate's jaw before pressing his lips back onto the other man's, less now to prove something and more to immerse himself into enjoying it.

Which he is. He can feel himself start to get hard again, and it's impossible for T.F. to not notice with how close they are.

Twisted Fate pushes Graves back, just enough to breathe and get a word in. "Malcolm," he finally says. "I'm not doin' this in the bathroom."

Whatever _this_ is. "Then get your ass in bed," Graves tells him.

"That's more like it." Twisted Fate grins. It's a quick motion, typical of his sleight of hand, but he grabs something off of the table propped up by the bath. Honestly, Graves is a little more distracted by the other man's backside than whatever he decided to grab at the moment.

Twisted Fate is quick to move, but Graves doesn't feel patient when he's striding after him. Taking action is always stronger for him instead of words, and that's something understood between the two of them; it's part of why it should come as no surprise to the thief when Graves pushing him into the bed before pinning him there. His hips are close to Twisted Fate's, and his erection brushes against the other man's. It causes a thrill up his spine and Graves jerks a little.

"You got me," Twisted Fate says, amused. He's smiling, keeping his display of confidence as he grinds his hips up against his partner's. Graves can't hide his groan, impressed and annoyed at T.F.'s precision in their bodily contact. "Now what're you gonna do, hotshot?"

He tries not to think too hard about this. That's liable to make him slow down or stop altogether, and Graves is _certain_ that's the exact opposite of what he wants. His eyes glance to what Twisted Fate had snatched up before he'd pinned him down here: one of the bottles of oil from the stand.

Son of a bitch, always a step ahead.

"Give it here." Graves holds out his hand expectantly. Somehow, Twisted Fate's entire body language just gives off the flavor of _smugness_ , even in a simple motion of handing the bottle over. 

When he opens it, the scent is subtle, surprisingly soft. Maybe it wasn't a conscience choice on T.F.'s part. Regardless, it'll get the job done. Sitting back, Graves peers down at his ex-rival as he coats his fingers in the oil, quickly finding them slippery enough to be satisfactory. He glances over Twisted Fate one more time: the man is laying back, looking terribly comfortable as ever with his wet hair tangled over the comforter draped over the bed they're currently sharing. The man is hard as hell, but he doesn't even act like it's distracting him. 

Graves plans on robbing him of that look _very quickly._

He pushes a thigh back, just enough that he can have a look at what he's doing. This will take a bit more patience than he usually has, especially now, but he isn't in a hurry to bring Twisted Fate that kind of discomfort. If anything, he'd rather be making the other man moan, not unlike what he'd given to Graves earlier. Cautiously, he presses the tip of his index finger against the pucker of his entrance before pressing it inside, slowly.

It doesn't entirely surprise him how easily his finger goes on. Graves knows that his partner's taken up company with women and men alike in the past, and he's calm enough to relax himself to take this. For Graves, this is a first. He doesn't think he's doing this wrong, but it's hard to tell. It's tight and hot inside, but Twisted Fate just looks patient instead of aroused. Graves scowls and draws his hand back a bit before pressing his finger in again to the knuckle. What the hell is he doing wrong?

When he curls his finger, he feels the tip of it press against a bump. Something smooth? The moment he presses, _that_ is when Twisted Fate gasps and jerks. "Malcolm," he groans, spreading his legs a little further, that smirk of his gone for the moment.

Hearing Twisted Fate says his name like _that_ sends a pleasant chill down his back. Graves is more than okay with his.

He's pushing his finger in again and rubbing against the spot that's making his partner twitch and sigh, clearly enjoying himself. Curiously, Graves is slipping his finger out before he's nudging two inside, which seems to be welcomed considering any lack of pain or refusal on Twisted Fate's end. Instead, he's pushing himself down against Graves' hand, letting out a breath he'd been holding.

For the time being, Twisted Fate seems content to lay back and enjoy himself. The attention isn't refused, and Graves is finding himself enjoying this in his own way. It seems simple enough, pressing his fingers in, curling just so against that spot makes him stretch out and give a vocal approval. It isn't until Graves uses his hand to loosely grip the other man's dick that Twisted Fate pauses and places his hand against Graves's wrist.

"Hold it, hotshot." Twisted Fate grunts and squirms at the sensation. "Yeah, let go of the goods. It's distracting."

"I'm pretty damned sure that's the point," Graves says flatly, but he obeys and lets go of him. "Everything else is fine?"

"You're awful stuck on that word today. _Fine._ " He chuckles before it crumbles into a shiver when Graves is flexing his fingers again. "Trust me, it's more than that. I'm ready to move on when you're done being entertained."

Move on. Right. Graves presses his fingers in one more time, watching his friend arch his back before he's removing them finally. "Don't get too cocky."

"Now I'm pretty sure _that_ is the point." The swindler grins at his own joke. Somehow, Graves refrains from punching him in the arm for it.

The bottle of oil is retrieved, but Twisted Fate is quickly snatching it from his fingers. No matter how strong Graves' hold is, T.F.'s hands are the reason why the two partnered up in the first place. He gives his friend a look, but the thief has his grin back, though granted it's far less smug and more just relaxed at this point.

Twisted Fate is pressing his hand to Graves' shoulder, guiding him to lay back. "Allow me," he says. "Better that I pace this one myself."

It seems a shame to give up a bit of control. It had been satisfying to earn those reactions from Twisted Fate by fingering him, but he trusts that it might be best right now to let him take the reigns at this next step. Graves doesn't expect it to feel anything like a woman, and he isn't sure really what this will be like. He props himself up on one elbow, watching as Twisted Fate slings a leg over the other man's hips, though he doesn't quite straddle him. Instead, the swindler glances over the thick erection in front of him with one of his confident smiles before he's rubbing oil between both of his palms. When he's satisfied that the oil is warmed up, Twisted Fate is rubbing his fingers ever so delicately against the base of Graves' cock.

The warmth and slickness makes him growl, his hips bucking. Counting on the motion, Twisted Fate keeps himself lifted by the knees, clicking his tongue as he watches his friend for a moment. He returns to rubbing his slick hands over the entirety of his dick, stroking along and coating it with oil. The sensation is light enough to be pleasant, and even this alone would be enough for Graves but obviously this isn't where they're stopping.

"There we go." Twisted Fate grins and scoots closer. "Ready for a ride?"

"You gonna keep talking?" His patience is starting to wear thin; Graves reaches around and grabs him by the ass, pulling him close.

The thief catches himself by pressing a hand to Graves' chest, and he lets out a low laugh. "Then let's get this going, hotshot."

While one hand remains braced against the gunman's chest, Twisted Fate cups the other man's length with his other palm, keeping it still as he guides himself down. Graves watches, but he can feel the head of his cock press against where he'd just finished fingering his partner. They're both slick enough for this, and T.F. most certainly knows what he's doing as he starts to press down. For a moment, it seems like it's going to take several minutes until he's inside, but it feels abrupt when the tip pops inside suddenly.

Graves grits his teeth and gives a strained noise. It already feels immensely tight, and Twisted Fate has to pause while he instinctively clamps down. For as sure of himself as the gambler is, he's taking his time with this, and Graves _gets_ why that is, but it's already difficult to wait. He can feel himself quivering with anticipation, forcing himself to remain still as Twisted Fate takes in a breath and starts to lower himself once more. Slowly, inch by inch, he watches himself be pressed inside of the other man; more and more, Twisted Fate grips him from the inside, incredibly tight and hot.

He was absolutely right. This is hardly anything like being with a woman. It's different, but the pleasure no less intense.

Eventually, Twisted Fate is completely seated. He lets out a breath, giving a small roll of his hips. "Hell," he breathes out.

"Does it hurt?" Graves doesn't count on Twisted Fate doing something stupid like hurting himself just to impress him, but he can't imagine how comfortable is this if at all.

"Mm? Not really." The smile Twisted Fate wears is less arrogant. He looks understandably distracted, but there's no trace of his usual smugness at the moment. "Bit like a pinch, but it ain't anything to worry 'bout. When you start movin', it'll be somethin'."

"You don't say." 

The grip Graves has on Twisted Fate tightens considerably. He draws his hips back as much as he can manage before he's pushing up slowly into the other man. It draws out a choked moan from T.F., his body twitching. It's definitely an effective way to shut him up, that's for sure. Graves takes the opportunity to grin this time, thrusting himself up into Twisted Fate. 

" _Malcolm_ ," Twisted Fate says, sounding like he's pleading.

The sounds like he's doing this right. Graves lets out a deep laugh, squeezing his hands again before he's keeping a more consistent rhythm. Above him, Twisted Fate seems to be concentrating on keeping himself upright, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth open just enough for him to breathe heavily. Every motion makes him breath that much more harshly, and Graves is drawn to the idea of exhausting him if that's possible. It's not about his own selfish enjoyment of this, he realizes that, and there is absolutely sexual pleasure in watching how Twisted Fate reacts to every motion of his hips.

He starts to buck harder, and his friend hisses, shuddering. Graves grabs onto his leg and hip, grunting as he flips Twisted Fate onto his back. It draws out a strained gasp from the man under him, and he's squirming before Graves is thrusting harder into him. Graves is certain he hears his name moaned again, but it's hard to make out while he's starting to use more of his strength to fuck him. He almost wonders if this is too much for Twisted Fate, but he doesn't doubt the other man's ability to vocalize when he's not enjoying something.

So Graves hooks a leg over his shoulder and holds on tight, exhaling through his nose as he pounds into Twisted Fate. The thief arches his back, trembling as he rocks with the force of the gunman's strength. Graves doesn't think, he just moves, losing any sense of rhythm by now and instead just focuses on _moving._

He can't tell if Twisted Fate actually says anything that are actual words at this point. It's a garbled moan and Graves witnesses him finishing; it's kind of impressive with hardly any touch but to the _inside_ of him is enough to make him come undone. The grip around Graves spasms and becomes that much tighter, and much harder to bear against. Graves chokes, rolling his hips just twice more until the familiar sensation claims him and he's spilling himself into Twisted Fate.

It's quiet for a moment, just the two of them breathing. Graves winces when he slips free, and he doesn't think much about the mess. He doesn't think much about _anything_. This goes far beyond than just receiving a blow job. He glances down at Twisted Fate, who has his arm draped over his eyes as he pants, still coming down from the orgasm that apparently has been enough to keep him quiet for awhile now.

"Tobias?" Graves asks, curious.

Twisted Fate peers under his arm, then wordlessly grabs for the other man's shoulders. There's hard any strength in his arms right now, but it's enough to pull himself up and press a sloppy kiss to Graves' mouth, hardly any real aim and mostly a mash of lips and a tired tongue. A hand tries to hold onto the back of Graves' head, and the gunman keeps it there with his own.

Their mouths part, and T.F. is pressing his forehead against Graves'. He seems calm, almost contemplative for a moment. He still hasn't said anything.

Then he frowns suddenly and gives a harmless swat against Graves' chest. "Jackass, I just had a bath. Now I gotta go an' do it all again."

"Are you _kiddin'_ me? That's what you got to say?" Graves demands.

"C'mon, hotshot; like you really need me to inflate your ego."

Graves gently shoves him back down onto the bed. "Just shut up and give yourself five minutes, asshole."

That seems to be enough for Twisted Fate, who sighs and shakes his head before he silently agrees. Graves doesn't think too hard about this; he can't, really. More importantly, it's better to just enjoy the moment for what it is.

Graves can stand to worry about everything else later.


End file.
